


Toxic Worship

by potatochip53



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Denial, Domestic Violence, I'm Sorry, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Oblivious, Self-Denial, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 06:15:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17177468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potatochip53/pseuds/potatochip53
Summary: A fist plowed into his stomach. His head slammed back into the solid door and the world spun. It was totally reasonable. Understandable. It was Bruce's own fault really.





	Toxic Worship

Bruce can't look him in the eyes anymore. Whenever he meets those shiny blue eyes, the only thing he can feel is the shiny blue burns and bruises that were peppered all over his scarred body. Before it was different. Before it was fun. Before it was actually loving. In the beginning, Clark had actually cared about Bruce.

They had went out on dates that had ended in heated make out sessions. Bruce would pick Clark up in a sleek Porsche and treat the larger man to a delicious dinner on the top floor of an upscale restaurant. They would be served cuisine only found on the other side of the world all while seated next to a wide window that viewed the entirety of Gotham City, hundreds of feet in the air. Lights glistened off of buildings in the cool night air as the two lovers laughed over their meal. And for those nights, as if a God had been watching over them, the back allies of Gotham lay silent. The city was treated to a night without killings or gunshots.

And then other times, Clark would show up unannounced to Bruce's Manor, flying silently in through a window. He would coax the billionaire away from whatever lead he had been following or whatever business owner he had been arguing with. Clark would lead Bruce outside in the mid afternoon sun as if sensing the Dark Knight's stress, and they would walk. Looking around and seeing the good in the bad.

The dirty children living in poverty who created rainbow chalk drawings in the streets. The citizens milling outside grocery stores who helped each other to their cars and lent an extra dollar to a fellow. They would walk throughout the city and somehow always end up in the park. Clark would lower himself down into the grass with Bruce sure to follow. Then he would whip out food from what seemed like thin air and lay it out all along the grass. They would sit there, leaning against each other, eating, watching as the Gotham skyline turned from blue to orange. It used to be perfect.

Used to be. Used to be. You have to stick with someone. Be by their side through thick and thin. See them at their worst to be with them at their best. Then, and only then, do they show their true colors. Take off the mask.

Clark slowly stopped showing up to the Manor. First it was his work as Superman. Then it was his work as Clark Kent. Then he was too tired or the sky was overcast. Eventually, Clark hadn't entered Bruce’s house in over a month. He got rougher too. During sex he would bite the billionaire until he tasted metal and rake his indestructible nails down Bruce's back until the shorter man would feel stinging the next day.

Bruce began to drive his Porsche to Metropolis more often in an attempt to see Clark more. Their dinner dates had less laughter. The talking consisted mostly of Bruce filling the silence, trying to get his boyfriend to laugh. One night the Dark Knight tipped their waitress a bit more than usual. When they entered Clark’s apartment later that night, he pinned Bruce to the wall. The sound of the shorter man's back impacting against hard drywall echoed in the silent room.

“Why'd you tip that waitress more? Did you think she was hot?”

“W-what? Clark no what are you talking about? I just thought she deserved it.”

“You were gonna try replace me with her weren't you?”

“No Clark I- no. No of course not.”

Superman inhaled. “Why? Don't you love me? Am I not good enough?”

Bruce replied desperately, “Of course babe. Of course you just imagined it. I never would have done anythi-”

The sound of skin on skin echoed through the room. Bruce exhaled violently as Clark's open palm collided with his cheek. Silence enveloped the room. The calm before the storm. Then the front hit.

“Oh my God baby I am so so so sorry. I-I don't know what came over me. I'm sorry it's just Superman and everything builds up…”

Bruce felt blood swelling up and spilling over his cheek from where Clark's ring had struck him. But this was his lover. Superman was gentle and kind. This would never happen again. A hand stroked his cheek, smearing the blood.

“It's ok Clark. I believe you. I love you so much. I will never leave you.”

\----

Bruce hissed as he lowered himself into a chair in the Bat Cave. Clark had gotten a bit paranoid again. It was Bruce's own fault really. He never should have complimented the guy on his jacket in the first place. Paranoia had turned into anger and self hatred for not being good enough. Clark always let his emotions build up until the dam exploded and everything flowed free. The bruises on his arm from Superman's grip ached, but the real pain was from where had let his shoe collide with Bruce's shin. In his moment of possessiveness, the shoe had broken the skin and left a half healed purple lump that hindered walking just a bit. It was totally reasonable. Understandable. It was Bruce's own fault really. 

A few weeks later, Bruce had finally gotten Clark to go on another walk. It was just like old times. They had linked arms and the billionaire had the biggest smile radiating as he glanced at Clark every few steps. He was in such an amazing mood. This was the first walk the couple had been on in awhile. Bruce’s ecstasy spread to everyone. He skipped along with Clark, helped a little girl find her kite, and lent a single mother a few extra cents to buy her little boy a balloon. He only realized his mistake when the grip on his arm tightened to a level where it was sure to make a mark.

Bruce was led back to Clark's apartment by the iron grip on his arm. The door knob was suddenly digging into the shorter man's back as he was shoved flush against the door. A fist plowed into his stomach. His head slammed back into the solid door and the world spun. Bruce kept his mouth shut as pain rocketed throughout his body. It was his own fault anyway. It was only how Clark showed he cared. It was hard to be Superman.

That was months ago. Bruce groaned as he woke up from a deep sleep. His spine cracked as he stretched, body stiff from not moving for an entire night. It also ached from fresh bruises. He rose up and slid to the edge of the bed, eyes still sagging from left over sleep. Bruce winced as feet met ice cold floor as he padded to the bathroom, throwing off clothes as he went. He stopped to look in the mirror. 

Black and purple bruises littered his abdomen with half healed bloody bite marks woven in. In some spaces, mottled green took on the outline of a large hand. In others, dark purple belayed the shape of a fist, the design of a ring with an ‘S’ clear. A few cuts lingered here and there where the ring caught or where Bruce stumbled against a sharp corner after a shove.

His face was next. His face… Bruce's lips were swollen from constant apology kisses. His cheeks revealed several small white marks, cuts from Clark's ring that would never completely heal. Dried blood crusted in his hair where he must've missed it last night. His right eye was now completely awake, but his left was still sagging, although not because of sleep. Bruce's left eye was discolored a blackish purple. It was swollen and inflamed enough to completely hinder his sight. His nose trickled blood from where it sat at a crooked angle. He tried to wipe it away only for it to smear, a demented reminder. Bruce winced as he brushed a lump on the back of his head from where Clark had held him down against the hard tile. Black dots swam before his eyes.

His phone buzzed. Clark asking where he was. Bruce smiled as he thought of his lover. He yanked open a drawer with concealer and raised it towards his injured face. Clark didn't like to see Bruce hurt. It made him feel bad. Bruce shouldn't have complimented that guys shoes. He shouldn't have left without telling Clark where he was going. He shouldn't have even talked to that girl. But that was okay. It was all his own fault anyway. Now, he couldn't wait to see Clark.


End file.
